


Incline

by Nununununu



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: 5 Times, Caretaking, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hair Brushing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Robot/Human Relationships, Touching, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26339677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: He can’t explain why the haptic sensors in his fingertips should feel as if they resonate with an echo of the touch.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/K-2SO
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42
Collections: pine4pine 2020





	Incline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whalebone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalebone/gifts).



> For Whalebone, with thanks for the lovely pining prompts <3

-5

“Cassian, wait.”

Having emerged from the box-like refresher and collected the knife he’s concealed in his boot, Cassian’s turning to head down the ramp of their tiny borrowed shuttle, the confines small enough K-2’s slouch is necessarily increased by fifteen percent. Garbed in the neat outfit deemed suitable by command for the undercover job, Cassian’s expression is already almost entirely a mask as he pauses to glance back.

“Mm?” Even just that small syllable contains little sign of his actual self.

K-2 therefore waits until Cassian nods shallowly before approaching and lifting his hand. Cassian’s eyelids don’t flicker although, if he were someone else, some other organic, the minute increase of the lines around his eyes implies they would.

His fingers shift infinitesimally towards his palms.

“You’ve missed a few strands,” K-2 touches him only enough to smooth the locks of hair into place atop Cassian’s head – the refresher contains no mirror, after all.

“Thanks,” Cassian stands otherwise motionlessly unless K-2 lowers his hand.

Knowing how deep the man is sinking inside himself, K-2 simply nods and watches him leave.

He can’t explain why the haptic sensors in his fingertips should feel as if they resonate with an echo of the touch.

-4

The next time, Cassian is kneeling at an awkward angle, reaching for a piece of the transport craft’s internal systems some piece of organic ‘wisdom’ saw located deep inside the narrow access hatch in the deck.

Partway through dealing with the most immediately problematic areas of the mess organics have similarly made of the ship’s limited artificial intelligence while simultaneously debating with it over the dubious merits of a general overhaul compared to a complete upgrade, K-2’s audio sensors are nonetheless advanced enough to easily identify it when Cassian lets out a quiet huff.

Frustration.

“Would you like me to remind you of the differing length of our arms again, along with the fact that I am generally better suited to undertaking the repair if you can bring yourself to wait the three point four more minutes I estimate it will take me to conclude my current task?” K-2 enquires.

“No, it’s –” His annoyance is tempered by something K-2 identifies as possible slight self-directed amusement after a swift analysis of various emotions Cassian doesn’t typically display, “It’s fine, Kay.”

There’s an implication of it in his dark eyes similarly when K-2 angles his optics in the man’s direction and their gazes meet.

This simple act has begun to set off an inexplicable ping within K-2’s circuits; a quick scan, as it has each time so far, returns no reason for it.

Just the fact Cassian is looking at him shouldn’t mean anything. Given the confines of this most recent ship and the fact they are allocated on missions together sixty-five percent of the time, it would take them more of an effort to avoid making eye contact than the alternative.

“It’s nothing,” Both of Cassian’s hands are buried up to the elbow in the ship’s innards as he leans forwards again to reach, his hair falling in his face, obstructing his line of sight.

“It is evidently not ‘nothing’,” Letting out a brief electronic sigh at the man’s sheer contrariness and characteristic refusal to request assistance, K-2 extends a long arm, “Let me.”

As before, Cassian goes very still as K-2 guides the strands of hair behind his ear. His tension is less this time though – to a degree – and his expression is difficult to define in place of being a mask.

He is allowing himself to have an expression though, so K-2 deems it progress.

His systems return no immediate answer as to why a stray subroutine should seek to have his fingers linger however, when he goes to draw them back.

-3

“Would you help me with something?” Cassian sounds mildly reluctant as he steps out of the refresher, although K-2 knows his few tells more than well enough to know any negative emotion is self-directed, “Please.”

On glancing over at the man, K-2 similarly discovers a faint grimace of what could be awkwardness on Cassian’s face above the loaned civilian outfit that will imply him to be far more carefree than he ever truly is when he slips into his assigned role.

“What is it?” Asking this proves unnecessary; K-2 identifies the issue without even initialising a scan, “Ah.”

“I can’t seem to –” While the sentence is aborted halfway, the lines around Cassian’s mouth deepen by seven percent as he gestures briefly at his head with the comb in his hand.

More specifically, he gestures at his hair, arranged neatly in place – that is, except for a few stubborn strands sticking up at his crown.

“I know it’s ridiculous,” He’s not making eye contact.

“Considering this mission, it might have been prudent not to use that mirror as an improvised weapon,” K-2 points out, although the memory file concerning Cassian’s admittedly impressive aim when an unexpected trooper had stumbled upon their concealed ship earlier has been providing him with amusement each time he’s replayed it.

The small projectile hadn’t been enough to prevent the trooper from attempting to raise the alarm, but it had stunned him long enough for K-2 to ensure it.

“If you’d been listening out as asked instead of arguing with me, it wouldn’t have been necessary,” Despite his complaint, Cassian smiles a little – a _real_ smile, one that isn’t covering for something or forced.

“Oh,” K-2 doesn’t intend to say this, just as he doesn’t intend to pause on registering this anomaly and the way it transforms Cassian’s face.

The expression is genuine, as is the glimmer of humour in Cassian’s gaze as he passes the comb into K-2’s outstretched hand.

“If _you_ had been listening out instead of arguing, it likewise wouldn’t have been necessary,” K-2 belatedly provides his intended answer, to his relief seemingly still quickly enough for Cassian not to question it.

Exhaling a huff of not quite inaudible laughter as he shakes his head, Cassian falls still, undoubtedly in order to facilitate K-2’s assistance.

Something about this strikes through K-2’s circuits in a way that’s difficult to ignore. It makes him hesitate when there is no reason for it, something about the sight of Cassian in rare open good humour, standing there waiting for his touch –

For all he should be in control of every part of his hardware, K-2 can’t prevent the way his fans increase slightly in speed and volume.

“Kay?” Cassian notices the lapse this time; of course he does.

“It’s nothing,” It should be nothing. K-2 adapts a subroutine from his old programming to allow for the correct movements and raises the comb to the problematic strands, “I have never done this before.”

“I know, Kay,” Cassian’s still motionless, his gaze trained on K-2’s chestplate. He’s closer than he would usually stand; his temperature two degrees higher than its norm abroad ship. “It’s fine.”

“You say that now,” Tipping his head in consideration of the task, K-2 warns.

It gets him another quiet huff of laughter, unreasonably satisfying to hear. Additional energy begins to flow through K-2’s processor and he finds himself starting to project scenarios.

What if –?

“As suspected,” Combing the strands down neatly only has them springing back up again, “Cassian. I have a suggestion I believe may have merit, but you might find it disagreeable.”

“Mm?” For reasons K-2 can’t quantify, Cassian sounds uncharacteristically distracted. He’s also leaned in nearer to K-2 by four percent, a small enough amount it might be irrelevant. Accidental.

K-2’s programming doesn’t want to deem it accidental, which is bizarre in itself. What is more bizarre is that he finds himself running a simulation in which he sets the comb aside and brushes his fingers through Cassian’s hair instead. That he touches Cassian’s temple and his cheek, new data flowing through his systems as he turns the man’s face up to his –

To what?

“I am aware it is not its intended purpose, but would a small amount of this help?” Determining to set aside such notions as a blip in his programming, K-2 reaches his free hand out for the small repair kit set to one side. It’s but the work of a moment to produce the oil he uses for basic self-maintenance.

“That’s –” Cassian –

Cassian _flushes_ , two faint but discernible spots of colour rising over his cheekbones before spreading down to his neck. He lifts a hand as if to hide behind it but catches himself, rubbing a cheek almost ruefully on the cuff of his borrowed jacket instead, a gesture he would never usually permit himself.

“That might work, yes,” He signally doesn’t look at K-2 as he agrees, “Just – not enough for it to be visible.”

“Of course,” Generously refraining from rolling his optics, K-2 applies an extremely sparing amount to his first two fingertips and magnifies his vision enough to appease his own systems, given he has analysis to run while Cassian’s on the mission and Cassian has forbidden him from attempting an early extraction even should the man’s cover come under threat.

Both of them know that K-2 has no intention of actually obeying this, if it comes to it – or if there happens to be an interesting blaster fight. But still.

Better not to take the risk.

“There,” The strands now obediently staying in place with just the tiniest touch of oil, K-2 makes himself drop his hand. The fact he has to _make_ himself is – He firms his attention on his speech commands, given the excess power still travelling through his wiring attempts to interfere with his vocabulator, “You survived the process.”

Having returned to their typical colour, Cassian’s cheeks heat faintly all over again and he goes so far as to clear his throat.

“Yeah,” There’s an atypical husky quality to his voice, as if he too is somehow also affected by this additional energy, “I did.”

Stirring, he reaches for a cloth from the repair kit, folding it over to display a clean corner before holding it out in request, “Let me?”

“Very well,” Watching as Cassian cleans his fingers, the durasteel digits dwarfing the man’s flesh-and-blood ones, K-2 can’t explain why every fraction of his processing power feels as if it seeks to rearrange itself around this touch.

-2

“Thanks,” Cassian slumps to the extent that he’s leaning a portion of his weight against the side of K-2’s chassis, the rigidity of his shoulders easing as his small organic body begins to absorb the warmth K-2 is expelling from his vents.

“It’s no problem,” Hesitating briefly, K-2 lets himself brush his fingers gently through Cassian’s hair, alert for any sign of protest as he starts at the man’s temple, sweeping through the soft strands above his ear.

They’re outside – the skirmish earlier had escalated to the point K-2 had been forced to insist that Cassian fall back, regrettably unable to continue fighting while adequately protecting the man. They’d been outnumbered and in very real danger of being overwhelmed – and while, in K-2’s opinion, such odds can frequently provide an interesting or even enjoyable challenge, saving Cassian’s life always comes first.

“I thought you’d be angry with me,” K-2 can’t hold the confession back. He’d predicted an eighty-two percent likelihood of Cassian being furious, in fact. The man had been pushed beyond his limits enough to be visibly shivering from adrenalin leftover from the fight when K-2 had judged it safe to finally stop their retreat into the dense woods covering much of the planet, and the fallen trunk of a once huge tree provides little shelter from the cold of the night now.

“We’ll just have to infiltrate the base again,” There’s a slight frown marring Cassian’s brow when K-2 cranes his neck to glance down at him, but his eyelids are unexpectedly heavy and his head is angled in towards K-2’s arm, “Complete the mission. It’ll be more difficult now they know we’re here, but –”

He’s exhausted. Of course he is. Compounded by the warmth K-2 is providing him and the knowledge they’re as close to safe as they’re ever likely to be.

K-2’s sensors are predominantly occupied with their surroundings and with monitoring local frequencies. But his audio sensors identify the tiny hitch to Cassian’s breathing when he brushes his fingers through the man’s hair a second time.

“Should I stop?” K-2 doesn’t want to. He strongly doesn’t want to, which should be baffling. But there are numerous subroutines seeking to open up, all prompting him to keep looking at Cassian, to keep touching his hair.

To touch him more.

“No, don’t –” Cassian says, a little more quickly than he likely intended, a rare moment in which he doesn’t first weigh and judge his words, and bites down on his lower lip.

Intrigued, K-2 feels as well as hears his own fans kick into a higher speed. Swiftly channelling the increased heat to the vents closest to Cassian, he allows his fingers to keep feathering gently through Cassian’s hair and watches Cassian’s mouth loosen very slightly, the man going so far as to actually close his eyes briefly in response.

K-2’s circuits _ache_.

He wants to gather Cassian in properly. To curve his free hand around Cassian’s shoulder or hip. To run his fingers over the man’s forehead and cheeks; to gather all the data the sensors in his fingertips can perceive. He _wants_ –

Cassian makes another near inaudible sound.

“Cassian?” K-2 adjusts the volume of his vocabulator to produce the man’s name more quietly than usual, the word interlaced with faint static, his attention fixed on Cassian closely enough that he can hear the man’s heartbeat.

This is something Cassian can control in given situations. But it picks up now, just a little, even as Cassian shakes his head minimally and lets more of his weight lean into K-2.

“It’s nothing, Kay.”

If the hand not holding his blaster slips on his knee, his knuckles lightly grazing K-2’s thigh, neither of them comment on it.

-1

“Here,” Cassian shifts closer on his knees, polishing cloth in hand as he reaches further up, “Almost done.”

“Yes,” K-2 can’t say he’s concentrating on his speech subroutines; his answer is simply the first option to present itself. He can’t say he’s concentrating on _anything_ except Cassian and the slow circles of the cloth over his chestplate as Cassian rubs a final layer of polish in over the latest scratch and scuff marks – leftovers from the latest incident in which they’d saved each other’s lives.

“You shouldn’t charge in like that,” Cassian’s brows are drawn down minimally in a frown as they are so often when he’s relaxed enough to be less guarded, although there’s no trace of sternness in his dark eyes.

K-2’s fingers shift a small percentage at his sides, wanting to touch the corners of those eyes, wanting to trace over the downward slant of the man’s eyebrows, wanting to run his thumb down the line of Cassian’s nose and learn the feel of his moustache above his lips. Wanting to locate those dimples it took him three years and five months to establish with any certainty that Cassian possesses, and that he only has two and a half memory files of witnessing –

The half a time being earlier today, when they had tussled briefly and unintentionally over the controls in the attempt to fling their ship out of atmo after barely escaping, Cassian still breathing hard and K-2’s systems all loud enough to be audible over the engines.

“We’re alive,” Cassian had laughed out loud, just the once, as if he couldn’t believe it. That laughter had still been there on his face as he turned to K-2, who in honesty couldn’t fully believe it either despite logic and evidence.

The man’s expression had been alight with his grin and K-2 had longed to touch him, had longed to feel the way relief curved Cassian’s mouth and deepened those secret dimples on his cheeks. He’d found himself half-raising his hand before Cassian had seemed to take in how close they were to each other over the controls, and had uncharacteristically flustered for one point three seconds before taking a careful step back.

“You rely on me ‘charging in’,” K-2 says now, although he can’t stop replaying this memory file over and again, “You’d still be back there on the planet now –” _No_ , his processor is not going to start churning out scenarios in which this had in fact happened and Cassian is injured or dead as a result, “– If I hadn’t intervened.”

“I had it under control,” Cassian insists, although his tone is unusually absent, gaze trained at the place where his hand has gone still on K-2’s chestplate, the cloth held as if forgotten in his grip.

“Of course you did,” Producing a mild electronic huff, K-2 rolls his optics, before lifting a hand to his own chassis to tug the cloth gently from Cassian’s fingers. Energy pulses through his wiring as his fingers close lightly over the man’s knuckles, “Cassian.”

“Mm?” Cassian is swift to conceal the way he startles, but K-2 sees it all the same.

“You should rest,” He guides the man’s hair away from his forehead, revealing the premature wrinkles there and the remains of that slight frown.

“I’m fine, Kay,” Cassian looks away.

K-2 doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want Cassian to draw back either, but he doesn’t expect it at all when Cassian murmurs something very lowly, low enough K-2 will need to play it back after enhancing the audio if he’s to identify what the man says.

He also tips his head in towards K-2’s hand, so durasteel fingers slide deeper into his hair.

“This is all right?” K-2 brushes through the silken strands, marvelling at them and at the way Cassian’s eyelashes graze his cheeks.

Longing strikes his core as he simulates cupping Cassian’s face in his palms, mapping out the curves and angles of it, his plating warming with Cassian’s breath.

“Is this?” Appearing to come to a decision, Cassian almost cautiously angles himself so he’s sitting next to K-2 rather than kneeling, side by side, his body inclining in towards K-2’s chassis.

“Of course,” K-2 risks putting his other arm around his slender shoulders, feeling the tension in them; feeling it slowly start to recede.

Stroking through Cassian’s hair again, he’s helpless to prevent a small sound escaping his vocabulator when Cassian turns his head in towards the touch.

“Kay,” There’s emotion there on the man’s face, stronger than K-2’s seen before. His eyes squeezing closed almost as if he’s in pain as he lifts his own hand up, not to stop K-2, but to hook his fingers loosely into the joint of K-2’s wrist.

“Cassian,” The feeling of that fine hair and the warmth of Cassian’s skin feels as if it spreads through the sensors in K-2’s fingers out to encompass the rest of his systems, everything elevated, power thrumming deep in his core.

When Cassian slides his hand up higher to close his fingers around K-2’s and draws them down gently to kiss them, K-2 _burns_.

0

_The beginning_


End file.
